


ohana

by emmaofmisthaven



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Date, F/M, foster mother!Emma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-05
Updated: 2016-03-05
Packaged: 2018-05-24 23:35:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,872
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6171221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaofmisthaven/pseuds/emmaofmisthaven
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Let’s make a deal,” Emma says, shaking her head. “I agree to go on a date with Killian,” Mary Margaret softly cheers, “and if it goes south, you agree never to set me up ever again.”</p><p>Her sister-in-law doesn’t miss a beat. “Okay! Only it won’t go south because he’s perfect for you.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Emma rolls her eyes as she adjusts the Bluetooth earpiece back in place – the same one Henry says makes her look like an arrogant asshole, but she has a busy schedule, five mouths to feed and only two hands, so. Sacrifices are to be made, and she grew out of cranking her neck by tucking the phone between her cheek and shoulder. The earpiece makes phone calls easier, even if Mary Margaret’s conversion very much doesn’t.

“And he’s a _teacher_ , Emma,” she goes on, insisting on the word. “Which means he likes kids, and –”

Mary Margaret’s hobbies include matchmaking for her sister-in-law, and Emma wouldn’t mind if said sister-in-law was someone else. But as it turns out, David very much is her brother, and his wife very much is into matchmaking and forcing people into the same kind of happiness she shares with her husband. Sometimes, Emma wonders if she grew up in the Kingdom of Caring – her tummy symbol definitely a big, red heart.

Emma opens a cupboard to grab the lunch boxes, a sigh on her lips. “You can’t just force me into a blind date with every man on this planet who smiles at babies.”

_No but she can try_ , a little voice in Emma’s head singsongs, and she smirks a little to herself. Emma does admire her sister-in-law’s stubbornness, and would admire it even more if it didn’t match her own. It is a battle of wills, really, that to have a conversation with Mary Margaret about her love life – one Emma wishes they _didn’t_ have, but oh well.

“No but I can try,” Mary Margaret replies, which makes Emma chuckle. “Come on, Emma. When was the last time you went on a date?”

“When you tried to set me up with _Walsh_.”

Walsh, who had been a disaster – he had asked her how much she earns a year _on the first date_ and the answer, which ultimately was ‘I’m a lawyer, so more than you do, buddy’ hadn’t been to his liking, for some reasons. Emma is still waiting for him to call. Go figure.

“Okay, Walsh was a mistake,” Mary Margaret states, probably wrinkling her nose by the other side of the phone. Emma can only agree – Walsh was a fucking disaster, really. “But Killian is different! Even David likes him!”

Emma laughs a little louder this time. “David will stop liking him the moment he learns of this date and you know it.”

For all she loves her adoptive brother, Emma never really grew to be fond of the most protective sides to his personality. Sure, there was some satisfaction in him punching Neal in the face, that one time they saw him again a few years ago, but – Emma was alone for most of her childhood. She doesn’t know how to accept people caring about her and wanting what is best for her.

“He only wants what is best for you.”

She also doesn’t know how to deal with Mary Margaret’s mind-reading skills. It’s scary in it accuracy, more often than not. Or, then again, probably just the proof that Mary Margaret cares enough about Emma to know her so well but – nope, even now, it’s too much for Emma. Once an orphan, forever an orphan, no matter how long you’ve been living in a healthy environment with people who love you and who never forget to put food in your belly.

“Let’s make a deal,” Emma says, shaking her head and spreading some butter on the slices of bread in front of her – ham and cheese sandwich for tomorrow’s lunch, nothing fancy. “I agree to go on a date with Killian,” Mary Margaret softly cheers, “and if it goes south, you agree never to set me up ever again.”

Her sister-in-law doesn’t miss a beat. “Okay! Only it won’t go south because he’s _perfect_ for you.”

Emma wishes she had the brunette’s optimism.

 

…

 

Even if she doesn’t agree with Mary Margaret’s schemes, Emma would never ruin a blind date on purpose. She knows, despite the Walsh fiasco, that her sister-in-law does mean well, and so doesn’t want to be a little shit on purpose. Especially since this one is one of Mary Margaret’s colleagues – she teaches to the small ones and he’s part of the high school staff, but they share the same staff room. Emma can’t go and jeopardize Mary Margaret’s relationship with another teacher just because she’s bad at dating.

So she takes time doing her hair and makeup, even if she doesn’t go out of her way to look too fancy. She slips into high heels and picks the red dress she loves so much – it hugs her curves perfectly and does wonders to her breasts. She’s allowed not to be all to happy about the matchmaking, but at least she will look _great_ while brooding.

“You look pretty.”

Emma turns her head to find Grace leaning against the doorframe. She nervously tugs on the sleeves of her too large sweater, not sure if she is allowed to enter the room, or even if she is welcomed there. Emma smiles warmly at her, and nods for her to move closer. Grace does so shyly, even if a small smile tugs on the corners of her lips.

“Thanks, darling. Do you want to help me pick a bag?”

Grace nods eagerly before she walks toward the closet to take a look at the different bags hanging from a hook. She hasn’t been living with them for a while – it hasn’t been two months yet – but Emma knows her insecurities comes from fear of never seeing her father again. She’s one of the few children in the system lucky enough to actually have a parent who wants and loves her. It will only be a question of months before her father is back on his feet, financially and mentally speaking, and able to take care of her again.

“This one,” the girl says, handing Emma a small, simple black pouch.

“Thank you. Is Ruby there yet?”

“Yeah, she’s making popcorn.”

Technically, all the kids are old enough to stay alone for a few hours on their own – hell, half of them are old enough to be baby-sitter themselves, even. But Emma knows all too well that accidents happen, and so do random inspections. She doesn’t want to have problems for neglecting a bunch of kids while going on a date. So Ruby baby-sitting for the evening it is, which mostly means Ruby watching some movie while the kids all do their own thing in different rooms. Useless, but compulsory.

Ruby is indeed making popcorn with the microwave when Emma goes downstairs, and she whistles when she sees Emma’s outfit. Emma rolls her eyes without heat.

“Who’s the lucky dude?”

“Killian Jones?” Emma asks. If someone knows everyone in town, it’s Ruby – only Ruby shakes her head, obviously confused. “He’s a high school teacher apparently, I don’t know.”

“You’re going out with _Mr Jones_?” Henry asks with a chuckle as he enters the room. Little shit takes after her alright, especially in the sarcasm department. “He’s the new history teacher, all the girls have a crush on him.”

Read: this Violet girl I have a crush on has a crush on the history teacher, and _I am not happy about it_.

“Oh, do they now?” Ruby teases as she takes the bowl of popcorn out of the microwave. She burns her fingers and her tongue trying to eat a popcorn too quickly.

“Yeah,” Henry replies with a roll of the eyes – that too, he takes from Emma. “You’re too good for him, mom.”

“Well, good. You and David can start a club. Make t-shirts and all that.”

Henry smirks, before he leans closer to kiss her cheek. “You look good though.”

Emma doesn’t have the luxury to reply, because the bell rings at the same moment and everyone in the room stops to stare at her. Ruby even wriggles her eyebrows, handful of popcorn shoved into her mouth, and Emma rolls her eyes. She smiles a little, though, as she makes her way to the door, and ignores the way her heart beats a little faster against her ribcage.

(She’s allowed to be nervous, okay?)

Emma doesn’t exactly know what she expected, after learning all the schoolgirls have a crush on the history teacher, but – but _accurate_ is the first word that pops into her mind when she opens the door. And right up her alley, with the carefully mussed hair, leather jacket and blue eyes. Thank you, Mary Margaret.

He smiles at her before he looks over her shoulder, eyes widening even so slightly and hand rising to scratch behind his ear. Emma looks behind her, only to find the kids staring right back not so subtlety – Henry glaring from his spot in the kitchen and Grace standing next to him, Ava and Nicholas sitting on the couch but watching too. Even Felix got out of his room (a small miracle in itself!) and is staring down from the top of the stairs. Ruby keeps munching on her popcorn like she’s watching the blockbuster of the year.

“Yeah, nice to meet you, let’s go.”

Ruby barks a laugh as Emma tugs on the poor guy’s arm and closes the door behind her. As far as first meetings go, she has seen better (she has seen much, _much_ worse) but Killian is grinning despite the confused look in his eyes so she counts it as a win somehow.

“I’m sorry,” she tells him. “They’re just–”

“Don’t worry, it’s okay. Shall we?”

There is not an ounce of a lie in his voice, like he actually doesn’t mind that her army of children was staring him down not thirty seconds ago. Mary Margaret probably gave him one hell of a pep talk when he agreed to this blind date with Emma – she seriously wonders _what_ exactly Mary Margaret told him. She also isn’t exactly certain she wants the answer to that.

 

…

 

He takes her to Tony’s and swears Mary Margaret didn’t tip him on this – swears it’s a happy coincidence if Tony’s happens to be Emma’s favourite restaurant. She eyes him suspiciously at first, but he seems sincere so she doesn’t dwell on it for too long. Happy coincidences do exist, after all, even if Emma rarely ever experiments them herself.

And Killian – well, let’s say Mary Margaret picked well this time. He’s funny and witty, getting a laugh or two out of her before the waiter even brings their drinks. Emma can’t even remember the last time a man made her laugh – or at least didn’t make her want to tear her own hair out before running away screaming like a banshee.

Apparently, he’s also been the victim of Mary Margaret’s matchmaking ever since he started working at the school in September. He moved to Boston not long before that, and the petite brunette thinks the best way for him to socialize is to go on blind dates with everyone she knows. Emma tries not to be too upset at not being on top of Mary Margaret’s list (while also being relieved she wasn’t, it’s a weird feeling), which is made easy when Killian tells her what a disaster his date with Tink turned out to be. So, of course Emma then shares stories of her own about how awful dating is. It’s only fair.

"I've got this thing, it's called the No String Attached test," she tells him. "I tell them I have a fourteen-year-old son, and I wait for them to freak out."

"Do they?" he asks, and she raises a confused eyebrow at him. "Run away, I mean?"

"Oh yeah," she nods, and laughs. "And if they don't, Henry plays the 'are you my daddy' card when they come to pick me. Works like a charm."

Killian chuckles, the sound deep and low and definitely bringing a shiver down her spine. They only ate the first course so far (yeah, he went all in) but Emma already knows she’s in trouble. Infatuation isn’t supposed to be her thing, but there is something about him that makes her think she could… maybe… perhaps…

“Henry is yours?” he asks with interest.

She mentally shakes her head. “Yeah. Yeah, he is. Mary Margaret told you, I guess…”

“That you’re a foster mother, aye. She did. How many do you have right now? Four?”

She doesn’t know how to react to that. Like she said, guys usually run the other way when she tells them she has a kid of her own – let alone that she keeps a bunch of others with her most of the time. Clichés are true more often than not, especially when it comes down to men and responsibilities. Not that Emma usually minds – she doesn’t look for a long-term relationship when she flirts at bars anyway.

Still, Killian’s interest is obvious, not just faked because he’s hoping she will have sex with him later if he plays his cards right. She doesn’t know how to react to that, never found herself into that kind of situation before. So as always, Emma reacts the only ways she does – she grabs her glass and takes a long gulp of wine, hoping for the best.

“Yeah, four. Hm, Ava and Nicholas – they’re siblings. Their mother died and they need a place while social services try to find their father. Felix, he’s just – he’s a difficult kid, keeps running away. And Grace. Her father got some gambling and drug problems, he’s trying to fix his life for her.”

“And you’re helping them.”

She doesn’t just imagine the respect in his eyes, the smallest hint of awe in his voice. She wants to tell him it’s the right thing to do, that she has a house too big for two and those empty bedrooms break her heart, wants to tell him of the feeling between her collarbones when a scared, distrustful kid hugs her for the first time. But those are things she can’t put into words and, anyway, he probably wouldn’t understand.

“Yeah, kinda,” is the only thing she finds to reply.

“I was ten,” he says then. “When my father left. My brother and I, we got shipped from house to house until he was old enough to take care of the both of us.”

Emma’s eyes widen.

Maybe he would understand, after all.

And maybe it’s too loaded a conversation for a first date, maybe they should at least wait until their main course is served but – it’s too loaded a conversation, but Emma doesn’t mind talking about it for once. Emma doesn’t feel like hiding behind her walls because it’s easier that way, safer that way. There is something in Killian’s eyes – a companionship of sorts you can only find among orphans. David understands. Lancelot understands. And now, Killian understands too.

“Can’t remember a time I wasn’t in a group home,” she replies, and he sucks in a breath. “Ingrid took me in when I was thirteen, adopted me when I was fourteen. There was always a bunch of kids in the house so… It just felt right, becoming a foster mother too, you know?”

“Like you want to save kids the way you were saved.”

His hand finds hers on the table. A delicate brush of his fingers on her knuckles at first, to make sure she won’t jerk away, before putting his hand on top of hers. She’s the one who flips her hand over so she can entwine her fingers with his, squeezing a little. She leans on the palm of her other hand, staring at him, not exactly certain of what she sees (wants to see).

“Something like that,” she replies softly. A small, nervous giggle escapes her lips. “That’s some heavy stuff for a first date.”

His eyes twinkle, his grin widens. “‘First date’ implies there will be more than one.”

“We’ll see about that.”

 

…

 

He walks her to her door, like the true gentleman he is. Emma stops trying to swallow back her smile by now, instead playing a game she hasn’t played since she was in high school and crushing on Graham the quarterback or Merlin the science nerd – she plays coy and finds excuses to walk a little slower, to linger a little longer. Killian takes her cues, of course, like she was hoping he would.

He stops in front of her door and turns toward her, moving a little closer. The light automatically switched on above their heads, so Emma has no doubt her curious little munchkins are already spying on them, but oh well. She sways closer to Killian too, no caring if she gives her kids quite the show.

“I had fun tonight.”

“Aye, so did I.”

His hand brushes its way up her arm, bringing a shiver down her spine – she leans closer still, until his hand settles on her neck, until his thumb is warm against her cheek. His kiss is chaste at first, a soft caress of his lips against hers, like he is waiting for her reaction, like he doesn’t want to go too fast. But she wraps her arms around his neck, pulls him closer to her until there is no space left between their bodies, and he deepens the kiss, angling his head to the side with a moan at the back of his throat that has Emma’s toes curling in her high heels.

It leaves her a little breathless too, cheeks warm despite the cold night wind. When he grins down at her, it’s an endearing mix of wicked and shy – she didn’t know such a mix was possible, and yet.

“More than one?” he asks, uncertain.

She grins, and brushes her lips against his once more. “Definitely.”

If there was a word to describe his face when she looks back at him above her shoulder as she opens the door – this perfect brand of awe, this charming slack to his jaw, this light in his eyes – it would probably be lovestruck. And it feels a lot like the way her heart beats faster in her ribcage, too.

Of course, she’s met with several curious pairs of eyes when she enters the living room, and she rolls hers before going back the way she came then up the stairs to her bedroom. Ruby is the one to complain the loudest, but each kid adds their own comment to it, making Emma snickers. A band of nosy little brats, that’s what they are – and she wouldn’t trade them for anyone else in the world.

“You look happy,” Grace, now in her pyjamas, tells her from her spot against the doorframe as Emma wipes away her makeup.

She takes a few seconds to look at her reflexion in the mirror – cheeks flushes, eyes sparkling, a smile still tugging up the corners of her lips. Her phone dings on the bed, and her smile widens.

“I feel happy.”

“Good. You deserve it.”

And, for the first time in a very long time, Emma feels like she does, indeed.


	2. Chapter 2

Killian knows she didn’t do it on purpose – she had a meeting that ran late this afternoon, came home barely five minutes before he knocked on the door, and climbed the stairs with a promise of just taking a quick shower and be ready in a tick. It’s all a matter of bad timing, really. Killian knows she didn’t do it on purpose, but can’t help but be unhinged when he finds himself cornered by Henry and the twins in the living room.

That, on the other hand, is very much on purpose, very much planned – three predators, ready to pounce on their prey. And it would be endearing, if he wasn’t said prey. As it is, he’s facing three very protective, very suspicious teenagers, and it feels like middle school all over again – a period of his life he would like to keep in the past, thank you very much.

Ruby is too busy making popcorn in the kitchen to tell them to behave, because Ruby is an asshole. Killian saw the way she smirked at him, knowing. It all sounds like the most entertaining game to her, and Killian makes a mental note of teasing her about her inability to ask Mulan out, next time they all go for drinks together. All is fair in love and war, after all.

If only Henry and the twins hadn’t gotten the memo.

“Where are you going tonight?” Ava asks, folding her arms on her chest. Her long braids sway with the nod she offers him, a motion Killian guesses to be threatening.

“To the movies,” he replies simply.

“What movie?” Henry asks back immediately.

Killian forces himself not to smirk at last – although frightening and unexpected, their protectiveness makes his heart ache a little. It’s nice to see them ready to jump at his throat to protect their mother (biological or otherwise) and to know Emma couldn’t be in better hands. They look out for her, in their own twisted way, but they _do_ look out for her and it’s all that matters.

“Deadpool, I think.”

“Do you feel threatened by Ryan Gosling’s butt?” Ava asks.

“Should I?” Killian shoots back.

He swears he has to bite down on his tongue not to burst into laughter when Ava leans slightly to the side, as if trying to actually stare at his behind. This is wrong on so many levels, and he doesn’t even know if he feels saved or not when Nicholas butts in (ah!) with a frown.

“What happened to your hand?”

Ava slaps his chest with the back of her hand. “You can’t ask that!”

Nicholas slaps her back, and it turns into the kind of harmless fight where siblings slap the back of each other’s hands as fast as possible, more to annoy than to hurt. Killian’s heart aches for his brother, all of a sudden, and he shakes his head to keep the thoughts away – and to notice Henry is still staring at him even if the twins no longer are.

“A crocodile ate it,” Killian provides uselessly.

Henry squints, obviously not fooled by the obvious lie. He folds his arms on his chest and purses his lips a little, a gesture so _Emma_ it takes Killian aback for a second or two. They haven’t been dating for long, barely a month, so Killian didn’t really get the chance to really hang out with the kids yet, but he sees so much of her in Henry during the few moments they have together. Her stubbornness, her pride, the way she doesn’t seem to give her truth easily – all this Killian finds in the boy, with just one glance.

“Come on, guys,” Emma says as she enters the room, and it’s a testament to her authority that the twins immediately stop bickering – not enough to look guilty about it, but they do stop. She stares at them for a little while longer before her eyes fall on Killian, “You ready?”

“Always am, love.”

Henry theatrically rolls his eyes, and Killian ignores him as he follows Emma outside, his hand finding the small of her back easily. She’s dressed simply, a white sweater and jeans that do wonder to her legs, and Killian finds himself staring a little (a lot) as she grabs her keys, wallet, and leads him outside of the house. Only when the door is closing behind them does she turn around to face him, soft smile on her lips as she moves closer.

“Hi,” she whispers against his mouth.

He hums into the kiss, grins against her lips. “Hello there.”

She nibbles on his bottom lip, and it takes all of Killian’s self-control not to throw her over his shoulder and book a room for the night in the first hotel he finds. Thankfully, he no longer is a young pup and can focus on other body parts than that between his legs, and so they do make it to the movies on time. (Not without making out some more in the car.) (He’s only human, after all.)

…

Emma hates when Mary Margaret is right, because Mary Margaret’s brand of smugness includes way too many smiles and cheerful comments, and that’s too much happiness for such a small body. It only gets worse when Mary Margaret is right _about Emma’s love life_ , because she turns so insufferably joyful that it becomes disgusting. And Emma wants to be upset at Mary Margaret’s smugness, only she can’t because she is _happy_ too and – it’s like the seventh circle of hell, only worse. Fuck Mary Margaret’s peppiness, really.

It was to be expected, when Emma decided that inviting Killian to their fourth of July barbecue would be a good idea. It is – they’ve been dating for a little over three months now, and Henry is warming up to him since school is over and he no longer is ‘the kid whose mom dates the history teacher,’ and it _just makes sense_. Keeping Killian close just makes sense, which is so frightening it keeps Emma awake at night sometimes.

So, yeah, Killian shows up with beers and ice cream, and Mary Margaret is smug about it. All ‘I told you so’ and ‘you two look so good together’ and, even worse, ‘you look happy’. Emma feels happy. She is happy. She just doesn’t think she needs a man in her life to be happy but – she is. Only she knows Mary Margaret is already picturing a spring wedding, and ready to call dibs on being the godmother, and Emma doesn’t know how to handle that particular brand of happily ever after.

Killian must feel it – or see it in her tense shoulders, more likely – for he comes to stand next to her, arm wrapped around her waist as he complains about the way David is burning the sausages into a crisp. That’s enough for Mary Margaret to go check on her husband, appalled at the idea of the food being ruined. Emma sighs and leans against Killian’s chest as she watches her sister-in-law leave in a hurry, and Killian chuckles with a kiss on the top of her head.

“You should see her in the staff room,” he comments.

Emma groans, and hides her face in her hands, which only makes Killian laugh a little louder. His mouth tastes a little like beer when he brushes his lips against hers, and Emma could get used to that – not beer-flavoured kisses, but this intimacy between them, how easy it is for her to snuggle with his arm around her, the way her nose fits perfectly in the crook of his neck. She could get used to Killian in her life and, as she smiles against his mouth, she tells herself she already has.

She can see a future with him, a good one – her instincts tell her to run, because nothing good ever come from hoping too much, but she fights them off. Tells herself she deserves that, deserves her little corner of happiness with Henry, and Killian, and her family, and the kids. She’s worked hard for it, now she can appreciate what she’s got.

Killian bumps her shoulder with his, bringing her back to the here and now. “Alright, love?”

She looks up to him, smiles. “Never been better.”

His answering grin is dazzling.

…

Felix runs away eventually – not that Killian is surprised – and the twins’ father is found so they leave too. And then Grace, quiet, adorable little Grace, gets to go home with her father after months of trepidation. Killian has never seen her smiling so much, grin from ear to ear as she packs her bags and checks if she hasn’t forgotten anything in the house. It’s a weird feeling, happy melancholy, and Killian isn’t used to that. Emma says it comes with time, that you get used to saying goodbye and that most of the time it’s for the best. That her home is only a temporary stay for them, they’re always meant to leave eventually.

It doesn’t make the goodbyes any more easy, though.

Emma and Grace are hunched close to each other, whispering in soft voices. Emma’s hands are rubbing the girl’s arms, her eyes a little misty and her smile a little too forced to be truly genuine. Killian wants to wrap his arms around her, tell him everything will be okay, but he lets her to her goodbyes. Perhaps she needs that more than his comfort, needs the closure of telling Grace one last time to be careful, to be kind and polite and good.

Grace nods to her every word before jumping into Emma’s arms, squeezing as Emma hugs back as fiercely. The girl whispers a ‘I love you’ that has Emma laughing, but the sob is stuck at the back of her throat. Killian swallows with difficulty.

“Okay, Grace, let’s go,” the social worker who came to pick her up says. “Your father is waiting.”

“Yes, yes,” she replies with a grin, and kisses Emma on the cheek.

Grace picks her backpack and shrugs it on as she makes her way to the front door, before she thinks better of it. Killian’s lungs are emptied of air as she runs into him, quite literally, offering him a hug too, arms circling around his waist and cheeks pressed to his chest. She’s a wee thing despite being fourteen, and Killian towers over her even as he wraps his arms around her and drops a kiss on the top of her head.

“I’m gonna miss you,” she whispers.

“Kudos, little darling.”

She squeezes a little tighter, and Killian wonders when exactly he grew attached to those children. Emma, yes, he can pinpoint the exact moment when he knew she was his everything – that one afternoon at the beach last summer, her smile so bright, her laugh so loud, and he knew he wanted to wake up next to her for as long as she would have him. Emma and Henry are a package deal, so growing fond of the boy wasn’t all that hard either – it took more time for the boy to grow fond of him, but they’re getting there.

But the kids – he knew they were only temporary, and that he would see them leave. But the twins were so witty and funny, and Grace is so gentle, so kind, that he couldn’t _not_ get attached to them too. Not with all those hours spent in Emma’s house, not when they spent Sundays marathoning old movies and eating popcorn, not when he helped them all with homework at some point.

So, yes, he’s going to miss Grace. And he has no idea how Emma manages to do that, over and over again – he only admires her more, if only that was possible.

“Take care of yourself,” he goes on. “And of your daddy.”

“Yeah. Take care of her.”

It’s such a simple statement, but Grace’s voice is intense and leaves no room for disagreement. Not that Killian would disagree, mind you, but he smirks at the sudden burst of protectiveness toward the woman who was Grace’s mother for months, years. Will she ever foster a child who doesn’t develop undying loyalty toward her? Probably not.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll do my best.”

“Grace,” the social worker tries again. “Let’s go.”

“Coming,” she replies, and leans on her tiptoes to kiss Killian’s cheek. He smiles and winks at her, and off she goes, backpack bouncing with each step she takes further away from them.

Emma comes to lean against his chest, and Killian wraps his arm around her waist out of habit. It’s strangely sad yet domestic, the both of them standing in the doorframe as they wave at Grace until the car disappears around the corner. Even then, they keep staring at the empty street for a few more moments, and Emma sighs deeply.

“It’s going to be quieter around there,” Killian comments.

Emma scoffs, a little. “With Henry and you around? Not a chance.”

He grins, and brushes his nose against hers – Emma’s hands wrap around the collar of his shirt in reply, pulling him closer. She smiles into his embrace, but doesn’t do anything else, their bodies swaying a little on the spot.

“With me around, huh?”

“Yeah,” she replies, her breath ghosting again his mouth. “I’m not letting _you_ go.”

And, really, he’s more than fine with that.

…

Roland is the next one to come and live with them, which make things a little awkward at first. Emma mostly fosters teenagers, because she knows all too well they’re the ones nobody ever wants, and they have lower chances of being adopted. She eases them into adulthood, shows them how to survive into this big, scary world, and does a really good job of it if she says so herself.

But Roland is four, and tiny, and it’s a kind of routine she no longer is used too. Teenagers are self-sufficient, for the most part. But now, she has to relearn how to give a bath, and there are bedside stories before sleep, and scratched knees, snotty noses. It’s weird, but it comes back to her fast enough from her years of raising Henry while going to law school. Only now she raises Roland and is a lawyer, and she has a boyfriend who helps her out.

Killian has taken to it like a fish to water. Emma didn’t even have to ask (not that she ever would have, this is her job, not his) but he started helping anyway. It’s a relief, really, because he’s a way better cook than she ever could be, and even Henry noticed the improvement in the kitchen and the lunch boxes. Killian is always home before she is, anyway, and she finds the three boys at the table, doing homework and grading papers, while something is cooking and smelling heavenly.

It takes Emma two more months, before she admits Killian pretty much lives with them. She doesn’t know exactly when it happened, but she gave him an emergency key, just in case, and she can’t remember the last time he didn’t sleep in her bed. The last time she didn’t wake up to Killian making pancakes, Henry snoring above his cup of hot chocolate, and Roland doing the puzzle on the back of the cereal box.

Emma thinks she should panic. It’s a very Emma thing to do. But she doesn’t, and doesn’t want to, because – it feels right, somehow. Like it’s the way things should be, him and her and the kids, fresh orange juice and waffles on Sunday mornings and home-made mac and cheese on Wednesdays. It’s like the perfect little family she always dreamed of without ever thinking she would ever get it, and when she explains David after a, “I’ve never seen you look so radiant,” her brother only smiles and hugs her. Something about the happiness she deserves, and how right she is to look for the moments in her life, the good ones, after so many years spent focusing on the bad.

So Killian moves in with them, and no big deal is made about it. One day she sees all his clothes on the right side of the wardrobe, and his stuff in the bathroom, and copies he hasn’t graded yet on the kitchen island, and Emma admits it to herself. He lives with them. He’s here to stay. And it’s good.

It takes another three months, before she looks at Roland, and the way he plays with Henry, and how well he fits in their lives. It takes another three months, but she’s sure about that too. It doesn’t make her any less nervous, stomach in knots and fingers playing with the hem of her sweater, when she confronts Killian in their bedroom. He’s changing into a clean outfit for the teacher-parents meeting tonight, and Emma has the worst timing in the world to drop that on him now, but. But she will probably keep finding excuses, if she doesn’t do it tonight.

“Killian?”

He hums in reply, but doesn’t turn back to her as he stares down at his blue tie. Emma takes a deep breath and squares her shoulders, but feels like her entire body is now tensing with the heavy weight on her shoulders.

She blinks down, once, twice, before she says, “I want to adopt Roland.”

The tie is forgotten as Killian turns around to face her, eyes a little wide but frown settling on his brow. He looks confused, and she can’t exactly blame it for it. “O-kay?”

“With you,” she adds with an intake of breath. “I want to adopt him with you.”

Killian’s mouth opens even so slightly, but no word comes out. He shakes his head, a little, before moving closer until his body is a breath away from her. She can’t find it in herself to look up and into his eyes, so she focuses on the patch of chest hair peaking up from the open collar of his shirt, and the way his Adam’s apple bobs up and down with his swallow. They’re both silent for long moments, and she thinks that this is it. This is too much, and he’s going to leave and never comes back, because she’s too much, with her high-end career and her foster kids and all the responsibilities she’s forcing on him.

“You want a child with _me_?” is what he asks, though.

She looks up at him and he smiles down, his eyes full of awe and love and the kind of adoration she stills isn’t sure is meant to be for her. The knots in her stomach loosen, her heart beats faster, and she feels light-headed all of a sudden. She can only swallow around the emotions stuck at the back of her throat, and nods a little – the tears were unexpected, but not unwelcome as they gather at the corners of her eyes and threaten to roll down her cheeks any minute now.

“Yeah. Yeah, I want that.”

He doesn’t reply. Not in so many words, at least, but the way he kisses her, deep and intense and hungry, is answer enough for Emma. She grins and laughs into his mouth, and it turns into a moan as he pushes her up against the door of their bedroom, his good hand grabbing her waist tight enough to leave bruises. He kisses like it’s the last thing he will ever do, and it leaves Emma breathless, panting and happy. Mostly happy.

“God, love, you have no idea how much I want that.”

“Good,” she whispers against his lips. “ _Good_.”

…

She comes home to a quiet house, and doesn’t know how to react at first.

Only the light above the kitchen island is switched on, both the kitchen and the living room otherwise plunged into darkness, and Emma checks her watch just in case. It’s past 11pm already, because her meeting was running late and they decided to order take-out and stay a little while longer, but she expected at least Killian to still be awake. It’s Friday, after all. Roland will have fallen asleep hours ago, but Henry and Killian always play video games late into the night, until she has to bodily drag them away from the tv.

But the house is dark and quiet, only one light switched on and a post-it that reads ‘there’s a plate for you in the fridge if you’re hungry’ on the counter. Emma frowns before she switches off the light and climbs up the stairs. She goes to the bathroom, changes into her pyjamas – if it can even be called that, just an oversized shirt she stole from Killian – and wipes the makeup away from her face. Still not a sound when she moves to the bedroom, but then she has to stop in the doorway, has to grin a little.

Killian is lying on his stomach, the way he always does when he’s sleeping, only right now Roland is lying on his stomach too _on top of Killian_. His little mouth opens in a silent snore, half of it full of Killian’s hair, and he hugs his comfort blanket to his side. Henry is on Emma’s side of the bed, snoring too, half on top of the blankets with one feet dangling off the side of the bed.

It’s the most ridiculous sight ever, so of course Emma’s heart grows three times bigger just looking at them. Her boys, her perfect, lovely, beautiful boys who apparently all fell asleep waiting for her.

She can only grin, and she wets her lips as she moves closer to the bed, careful not to make any noise and not to wake them up. She puts her phone on the bedside table before settling between Killian and Henry, the latter stirring a little when she tries to find a comfortable position.

“Mom?” he asks, voice hoarse with sleep.

“Yeah,” she replies, and leans closer to kiss his cheek. “Go back to sleep, kiddo.”

“'Kay. Love you.”

And gosh, does she love them too.


End file.
